If Things Were Different
by Virtute et Armis
Summary: Sasuke is having nightmares about his brother. What started them? Had he seen Itachi? Was Itachi here? And why the hell were these dreams so weird? HINTED Sasuitasasu AR


I've been working on this for a month off and on. It involves very little anything except some development in Sasuke's character.

Warning: HINTS of incest

Disclaimer: I own nothing

_**If Things Were Different**_

The jail was chilling and wet sounding. He could taste the metal that lined the walls and floor and ceiling. He ran a hand tenderly up his arm, feeling the sensation of his self. He sensed fear like a cold lover pressing against his back. The ghosts were closing in, he noticed belatedly, and worked valiantly to beat them off. Yet, the passage became very familiar and he realized he must have visited this place a billion times and then some. The calls of prisoners sent the ghosts reeling into frenzy within his head. He stopped in front of the only silent cell.

He looked in and the darkness was impenetrable. Then a part of the dark moved and suddenly he could see very well the figure sitting despondently on the hanging cot. He was wrapped in a dun grey prison uniform that was sullied to near black by the filth. The rest of him was covered in wounds and injury and grit. His eyes pulsated in the darkness as they attempted to revive some of the life they once had. Innately, Sasuke felt proud as he saw Itachi struggle to activate his sharingan.

"How are you Aniki?" He asks bitterly, surprised by the distance of his voice. It is a dull surprise, though, and he remains enraptured by his brother's struggle. Somehow, he knows this immobility isn't a choice and that this decision was forced upon him. Itachi is writhing on the inside at his own weakness, his utter lacking of all he once had. Those dark eyes melt into the darkness as the thin lips pull grotesquely into a smirk.

"I am magnificent, Otouto."

His voice is deep and husky and a distant feeling of passion begins to buzz in Sasuke's mind. His hands work on the bars, which feel oddly fleshy in his grip. His forehead presses on the wrought iron, his sharingan glaring and focused on his paralytic brother. Paralytic? Was that the word? Itachi lets his tongue glide across his lips as his eyes show the spinning, dizzying vivacity of sharingan. Sasuke feels himself being thrown into the depths of mangekyou before he discovers the strength to pull himself out.

He wakes up shaking and sweating and utterly wasted in his bed. The sheets fit uncomfortably around him, tangling between his calves. He wants to tear himself from it, but he is trapped in the last gasps of sleep. His nightmare haunts him as he fights it from his consciousness: "It's not real." He says, trying to solidify the statement, but the nightmare continues on—evolving into a full story he didn't know he had known but had indeed instinctively understood during the dream. In his dream, Itachi had been captured before joining Akatsuki and Sasuke had visited him every day since. Why? Why would he visit that man? To try to kill him? To try to torment him? Yet, with that sensation of flesh and surprise and passion still humming through his system, he knows those aren't the reasons. He feels terribly out of place as he rises early, four in the morning, and prepares for his mission.

* * *

><p>The path is sun warmed and golden tinted in the afternoon light. A few birds flit among the trees in sporadic intervals. Somewhere, a creek runs lazily amidst the warming day.<p>

"Sasuke."

The mission is intended to be easy and is proving so. The scroll to be recovered is not far from the village, only a few miles short of the Fire nation border. It is held by low level bandits. Sasuke is happy to fight—to get this rage out of his system (or is it fear?). However, all he can picture in everyone's faces are the struggling eyes, the quivering lips, and the disturbing power of another.

"Sasuke!"

He tries to recover a shred of normalcy as he focuses on the distance. He hones in on the _now_, but feels a blundering dissociation. Itachi invades his mind insidiously with a power he is terribly envious of. But why _envious_? Why want it for himself? To use against Itachi? (and, then, in what way against Itachi?) He can't fight them off—these questions, too many questions—and the horizon is vibrating in his vision like a droning insect in the heat.

"SASUKE!"

Startled, the raven shifts his gaze from the horizon to the loud-mouthed blond. Naruto has his eyes narrowed and his arms are crossed stubbornly over his chest. Sakura is beside him with that half doting, half misguided look in her emerald eyes. It's difficult to see them, though, beyond the image of Itachi that continues to layer his vision.

"What do you want dobe?" Sasuke asks spitefully, not breaking stride for his motionless teammates. He continues on, expecting Naruto's heavy, rushing footsteps, but rather he continues alone. Finally, giving into curiosity, he stops and looks over his shoulder at his team. "Are you going to answer me?"

Maybe it was a little harsh, but Naruto lets a smug look slide across his expressive features. "We're supposed to head east now." The blond motions to his right, revealing a slightly worn path in the forest. Sasuke feels a flush of embarrassment paint his features, but settles for silence. He steps beside them and together they start off on the new path.

Sakura assures him it was a difficult path to see: only Naruto had seen it because _she_ had pointed it out to him. An argument, needless to say, pursues this statement and Kakashi is forced to pull the two combatants apart. Sasuke remains aloof, though, warily watching the shadows that appear motionless (for the moment). A bird takes off and he's startled, but quickly grows angry at his fear. It gnaws at him, though, like hunger- ringing his stomach to knots and making his head heavy.

He feels the temptations of thoughts, of thinking on his dream. All morning he battled with dispersing them, but they remain malignant, omniscient, and invasive. Why Itachi? Because he had seen him recently? That was true, but it was months—months since he had seen Itachi. If this is directly linked to it, why hadn't it started earlier? Why was it now?

Some part of him knows there is a trigger involved. Confused, he passes the notion for nothing. The trigger would have been _months _ago (but was that really the trigger) and for a teenager months amount to years (or maybe he was different), so that couldn't be it (or maybe it was). He felt the frustration build within him and crawl under his skin. He shakes with the fervor of it and Kakashi steadies him when he dips abnormally in his walk.

"Are you okay?" Kakashi asks tentatively, his hand holding his student's shoulder. Recently, Sasuke has been more reticent than normal, which wasn't a large change, but large enough. He can feel the shoulder tense and then a very cold hand push him off.

"I'm fine." Sasuke intones carelessly, striding forward. Sakura catches the tension and looks behind, but her eyes soon resume the forward position. Maybe Kakashi is looking too deeply—he pacifies himself with the thought—he tends to overanalyze. Sasuke stops shivering and his stride doesn't break as they close the few, remaining miles.

* * *

><p>The air has the taste of winter in it that Sasuke finds unnerving. Somehow, this year he had missed the color change on the leaves and winter is bearing down on him. He thinks gloomily on the coming cold chill that mars the air in that season. Finally, a part of his mind realizes, he has stopped thinking about Itachi.<p>

He repositions his feet on the roof, Naruto breathing uncomfortably on his shoulder. He can feel the heat along his poised arm, his fingers resting delicately on his kunai pouch. Naruto is slowly creeping forward in his impatience. Sasuke shoves the idiot back, gritting his teeth when the blonde's feet drag. "What'd you do that for, teme?" Naruto hisses, not at all quietly.

"Because you were breathing my air." Sasuke states possessively. He selects a kunai when the bandits turn onto the street where they are poised. He can see their ill set teeth, twisted noses, and one has a burn on half his throat. The scroll, though, is somewhere hidden under their greasy clothing, much to the ambush's team dismay. Sasuke sees Kakashi give the signal that means they should jump in and start a fight. After that, Sasuke rests assured that Kakashi will join to grab the scroll and the team plans to scatter and meet up further off once the necessary item is recovered.

As expected, all goes as planned. Sasuke takes off in the western direction, the Sun disorienting him briefly before he slips among a new sprawl of buildings. From his sensing, he knows two of the four had decided to follow him. _Damn_, he groans—maybe he shouldn't have called them ingrates. Nevertheless, with a few well placed tags, the two are blown to bits as Sasuke reemerges in the western town center. Here, there is little traffic save for a few elderly. To his right is a tea shop, which is a quaint place filled with more senior citizens.

Nostalgically, Sasuke takes in the aged countenances. He thinks of his grandmother and grandfather and, if he lives that long, will he look like that? _Probably like him_, Sasuke decides, his mind selecting a face that looks strikingly like his own. It is one of those brief, absent recognitions that gives the person déjà vu if they don't do a second take. However, Sasuke, ever cautious and still a bit shaken from this morning, looks back among the tea drinkers.

He sees him.

He is in his black cloak with his red clouds.

He is sipping the tea thoughtfully with that content expression Sasuke (used to have) loved.

Suddenly, Sasuke is rubbing at his eyes, trying to draw the nightmare out. No! He had gotten rid of it! He is not some kid who is scared of the monster under his bed! (But he's nothing like a monster because Sasuke's the monster). He will not let him get to him! (Because his mind is the only thing he has left). He finally removes his hands and finds similar coal eyes looking back at his. The thin lips pull into a smirk and the idle hand twitches into a small wave. Sasuke gapes before finding he has no breath.

He falls to his knees, feeling his chest constrict further and his eyes water. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he realizes he's having a panic attack.

After two months, Sasuke finds himself waking up again in Konoha hospital with Sakura by his bedside slicing an apple. She has acquired precision by now, the slices nearly equivalent. Sasuke can't seem to draw himself out far enough to be angry or, really, to express any emotion. He just stares blankly at her deft movements, watching pale fingers work a knife through soft flesh.

Sasuke feels the tip of something brush against his senses and he grunts in protest (or prostration). Sakura is startled and the apple slips but is quickly taken up again. "Sasuke-kun! You're awake!" She moves to embrace him, but remembers his anger from the previous hospital visit. Instead, she stays in her seat looking pitifully at the cut apple.

"Why am I here?" Sasuke manages, trying to look at everything (anything) but those thin fingers clutching the fruit, becoming slick with the clear juice. In his mind, he knows he isn't registering them as her fingers, but digits of someone else (someone so much better than her that their identity is unfathomable in his current condition). His eyes finally settle on her pink locks that are tucked behind her ears.

"We found you passed out. Or, really, Kakashi did. He had followed you when he saw that two guys were after you. He said you were curled up and clutching your stomach—we thought you were poisoned or something." She trails off, placing the plate of apple on the bedside table as an offering. Sasuke looks at it briefly, before catching her eyes with his.

"I wasn't poisoned, was I?"

"No." She admits and the conversation dies. Secretly, Sakura knows that Sasuke passed out from some problem, probably stress as Tsunade had suggested. He did look discolored all through the mission and had been slightly absent more so than aloof. She also knows well not to tell Sasuke this because he probably knows already. He probably knows so much better than she can ever hope to.

With a sigh that deflates her character, Sakura gets up and leaves. She can feel the Uchiha's eyes follow her until the door firmly separates them. Sasuke resigns himself to resting, munching on apple slices and thinking of pale fingers working a blade through soft flesh.

* * *

><p>Itachi's hand returns to the table, his eyes vaguely concerned in their gaze. He could have sworn he had seen Sasuke, but only the distorted reflection of his own face greets him. He tilts his head this way and that seeing if the illusion will return, but Kisame calls him back to the current situation before he can discover the truth.<p>

"You do understand Naruto is our priority, right Itachi?" Kisame asks with that edge of exasperation he's been prone to lately. His beady eyes are narrowed slightly, his brows drawn, and his mouth is set in a half frown. Itachi takes the countenance in with the careful deliberation of a shinobi such as himself.

"Of course I understand that." Itachi says almost absently, his mind still distracted. They were following Naruto, so it very well could have been Sasuke who peered in. It looked like him, anyway. Then again, as Sasuke gets older he seems to be looking more and more like Itachi, so the reflection can't be entirely ruled out. When was the last time Itachi had seen his brother anyway? Was it a few days ago? No, it was a week ago. A week and a day ago he had seen Sasuke.

Kisame feels briefly satisfied before realizing his mistake. "I'm sorry, of course you understand it." The edge in his voice increases by half a point, "What I need you to do is act like it. Look, I get it, you hate Orochimaru, you love your brother and, well, maybe if I were you, I would do that same. But you can't protect Sasuke, we're _too close_ to getting the Kyuubi. Family or not, your brother is secondary."

Itachi feels the logic and lets his mind become blank, absorbing the words in slow strokes. It's a technique he had learned as a Konoha shinobi and he had used it when he would use it when he had to take a difficult mission. Briefly, he would vacate his self and let his body do the work. The only time it had failed was when he had to kill his family. He just couldn't kill Sasuke. Now that same obsession makes the strokes sputter and stop and his eyes flash sharingan.

"I understand." Itachi intones, raising his teacup to his lips. The liquid is chilled now, but he sips it anyway. He tries to recover his composure and repeats over and over, mentally: get the kyuubi, get the kyuubi, get the kyuubi. After he's finished his tea, he has only accomplished to half convince himself of his task, but that's enough for now.

* * *

><p>Sasuke is in the jail, Itachi sitting on his cot. His eyes are purple in the dark, his skin a brilliant white in the coldness of the night. Absently, Sasuke is reminded of fresh fallen snow. For hours, maybe days, he gazes on his despondent brother who is looking through him rather than at him. For a moment, but only a moment, he is angry with his transparency. Then he is grateful for it when he feels the first, feeble probing fingers of arousal.<p>

He doesn't know its source, but his eyes tear with the first few strokes. He feels so heavy and so hot. He contemplates touching himself, but suddenly animation enters Itachi's eyes and he is _so embarrassed_. His hands, instead, occupy themselves with the bars. In the heat, they seem to melt and twist and become almost tender. His hold is so hot. The jail is so hot. And he imagines the bars as his self as his fingers press further and further into the forgiving metal.

In his dream, for this is a dream and he distantly recognizes it, he begins to vacillate. He fluctuates between dissociation and total feeling. He feels the heat of the bars in his hands and then, in the next second, he feels the coldness of incalculable distance. Finally, with a test of will, he forces himself back into his self and sinks to the jail floor.

The bars are slick in his hands, the floor is wet with something and it creeps up his body as he settles on the ground. He hears, distantly, the _swish_ of Itachi moving. He can even see, somewhere, somehow, the purple eyes turning red as the light reveals Itachi's (perfect) form. He crouches beside his brother, covering the sweating hands with his cold, prison-tailored flesh. His nose touches the sweaty locks; his breath is so cold as he exhales on Sasuke's feverish neck.

He wakes up moaning his brother's name—it feels so heavy and full on his lips. To his dismay, he sights his arousal and groans when he realizes he hasn't left the hospital. He thinks of touching himself, to make it go away. He even does, but immediately he is bombarded with images of his brother, his eyes glowing and probing and yearning. Sasuke groans, turning over, and surrenders to a restless sleep filled with his brother and his own fears.

He wakes up from the abyss of sleep, weary from floating above the void. In his ears he hears the final strains of dream-Itachi's voice. Oh, so he had dreamt that Itachi finally got around to talking, but as he tries to recover the conversation, he can only feel the sensation of cold breath on hot flesh. He scratches at the ghost sensation and soon he works it from his skin, but it will never leave his mind.

_Don't be so dramatic_, he chides himself. He rises from the cot, the tile floor chilling his bare feet. It's still dark outside, he notes, and he can spot no dawn on the horizon. With winter closing in, the nights are getting longer. The moon is a silvery sentinel in the purple sky. The clouds in the heavens are a greenish in color and laden with water.

Being an Uchiha, he'd never directly admit to wanting to know the _why_ behind these strange dreams and occurrences. No, he'd rather tell you he doesn't care. But he does; he cares so much that there is a constant stream of thoughts in his head, occupying his attention.

He regains awareness when he reaches the bathroom. Tentatively he knocks and, not given an answer, closes himself in the small room. The toilet is inches from his calves as he stands before the sink. The mirror is jet black in the darkness, but he refuses to turn the light on. When he was little, his grandma had said that when lights initially turned on or off, in just that moment, you can see ghosts. In truth, though, he was more scared to see the ghost of a living being rather than that of a person passed. Nevertheless, his muted reflection brings him no comfort when his face distorts awkwardly in the darkness.

The sound of breathing ricochets through his mind as all the other whirling thoughts fall out. He can feel it thumping through his bones and muscles: a ragged pulse that turns the room on its side. He tries to regulate it, but only serves to dry heave. The reflection—it's his brother. Sharingan lit eyes stare at him from the darkness, mouth open and wanting—wanting air or voice (or something else). When did he begin to look so much like Itachi?

When did he care that he looked like Itachi?

When did he care about Itachi?

What made him think he was caring—thinking of someone constantly didn't mean he was caring!

Or did it?

Maybe it's his hatred,

It must be—it's that thing that coils inside him when he thinks of that wretched man. It's the cold shiver down his spine, warm heat in his gut, and abrasion along the underside of his tongue.

Or was it something else?

(Because now it's so different from all the times before: so much more carnal than indignation and revenge.)

He doubles over, his hands gripping the porcelain dish. Shakily, he turns the faucet on and coats himself and, consequently, the mirror with water. He had intended it to be cold, but finds the water getting hotter and hotter the more furiously he douses his self. His breath becomes excited as he glances upward again: Itachi looking at him with that distant look of complacency.

Because Sasuke is accepting the truth

Because Sasuke is understanding

The warm water cools and the mirror mists to the point of uselessness. His breath diffuses upon the condensation, causing small patterns to appear. The feelings of passion still flutter wholly within him; a passion he should have recognized just because of its constancy. It was with him when he wanted his brother's attention. It was with him when he wanted his brother dead. It was a lust for everything that was Itachi: for everything he did not have.

His face is chilled now and the reflective glass has reemerged. He gives one last look, finally discerning his own expression among the matrix. Revenge, anger, absolution were all notions associated with such a faceless lust and, for once (and, perhaps, only once) he is planning to sate his infinite desire.

But he can't bring himself to do it.

* * *

><p>Itachi seizes mid step, letting out a raucous sneeze followed quickly by a quieter one. Kisame looks at his rather stoic teammate who is wiping at his face and looking mutedly confused. "Someone talking about you?" Kisame says jokingly, his sharp teeth glinting in the half light.<p>

"I suppose so." Itachi returns and the two continue their journey back to base.

* * *

><p>Note: 2 sneezes means someone is talking poorly about you behind your back<p>

Also, abrupt ending: it was intentional. The title should give the reasoning away, if not, feel free to ask!

Well, I hope you enjoyed this rather long post, which I didn't bother to proofread (I am too lazy, but I'm sure you understand: 4 APs coming up in 3 weeks, eep!).


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